Wanderer
by the river
he looks lost
his face appears ancient
in rumination
under the sycamores’
embracing shade
thinks he might see
God
he meets no God
in this heaven
of sacred groves just the rippling river
rushing over stones
and pebbles
as if it has
somewhere to go
and cannot wait
he stands still
and contemplates . . .
©Neetu Malik
Some of Neetu’s Books
-
She wraps her child
in the old, soft mantle -
soft murmurs in the dark
don’t enlighten me
they leave me fumbling
for something real to grasp -
The marbles roll
on a patch of dirt–
colored transparencies
shine in the afternoon sun. -
I carve a piece of blue sky
for the dark days ahead -
ong shadows
the afternoon s t r e t c h e s us
on the sidewalks
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